To The Ones Left Behind
by messy heart
Summary: How do you move forward when you've been left behind? Freddie POV.


_Everybody's gotta live_

_And everybody's gonna die_

_Everybody's gotta live_

_You gotta live before you know the reason why_

_._

_The world will end soon and what will we have been_?

You blame Carly for all this. Only Carly would have thought it "good fun" to rent apocalypse-related films for the movie marathon. Yes, they were entertaining. And yes, at that time you also thought that it would be pretty cool theme to have going. But then Sam goes all quiet, something that's always cause for concern. But you don't call her on it. (Something that you've learned from experience. Painful experience.)

She's always been a bit of conundrum, that girl: one part heaven, one part hell. You're locked in what feels like a perpetual limbo with her. Something you've tried to get out of, except trying to get out of it has resulted in dire consequences. (You cannot go home with another inexplicable black eye.)

You offer to drive her home, though, and surprisingly, she takes it without putting up much of a fight. You don't put up much a fight either when she props her feet up on the dashboard of your mother's car, or when she starts going through all the compartments. Flicking them open, snapping them shut. You keep your eyes on the road because you don't need to give your mother another reason to convince you not to drive during the night.

"We should have done a zombie movie marathon," she declares, finally speaking. She's not looking at you, though. Her eyes are trained on her fingernails.

"Why am I not surprised?" you reply, flipping your turn signal before cautiously changing lanes. "You _always_ want to do a zombie movie marathon. 'Sides, it was Carly's turn to choose."

"Yeah, and it was a pretty crappy decision."

As with most things regarding Sam, you have no idea where this is coming from. As with most things regarding Sam, you take whatever she gives you.

"What do you have against those kinds of movies, anyway?" you can't help but ask. You don't even expect any kind of answer. But you get one and it's exactly the opposite of what you're used to hearing from the blonde.

"The world will end soon," she says softly, "and what will we have been?"

That promptly shuts you up and it's a quiet drive the rest of the way.

.

It's prom.

You were _this_ close to asking her but before you can get up the courage to actually do it, she tells everyone that she doesn't care about the stupid prom.

"What are you going to do on prom night then?" you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I don't know," she replies, busy chewing on a piece of bacon, "whatever."

"It's a date," you tell her and walk away before she can get a word in.

You end up driving around town and eating copious amounts of fast food. Eventually you find yourselves at the waterfront and she's jumping out of your car, her footsteps heavy on the wood planks as she stomps toward the very end.

By the time you catch up with her, you're panting and she's not even remotely out of breath. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is caught in the breeze. She's a vision in moonlight and before you can stop yourself, your hand is on her cheek while the other is one her hip, drawing her close.

You kiss her.

She doesn't kill you.

.

High school's over. Carly's off to California, you're going to Pennsylvania, and the week before the both of you are set to leave, you get some news.

"How could she just leave without telling us, Freddie?"

You don't know what to tell her because tick baths and antibacterial underwear have done nothing to equip you to handle crying girls. So you just hold her tighter and wipe your tears.

You end up sleeping with your best friend. It's awkward and more about comfort than it is about passion. Except it backfires completely because both of you feel even less comfortable than ever before. Both of you agree that it should never happen again.

(But in the back of your mind, you blame Sam for this. In the back of your mind, you can never blame Sam for anything.)

.

The following years are a blur. You start dating and even find yourself in a serious relationship a couple of times. You make friends who share your interests and who think you're pretty cool and after your second year, you move into an apartment with a couple of your close friends. You start to think college feels better than high school. Computer engineering may be kicking your ass, but it's in a good way. A good way that makes you think the future is bright.

Sometimes, you think about what she said that day when you were driving her home in your mom's car. _What will we have been?_ you'd ask yourself. You still don't know but you hope that you'll find the answer soon.

(You hope that you'll find her soon.)

.

You and Carly try to keep in contact with one another—phone calls, text messages and emails. But they dwindle over time, though, thankfully, never completely.

Third year of college is a struggle but you get through it. You've just received word that the summer internship that you've been gunning for is now yours. It's in California and a decent drive to San Francisco where Carly will be taking her own summer internship. It's incredibly prestigious and you're itching to tell her as soon as you find out.

A coincidence happens when you reaches for your phone to call her and it's ringing because she's calling you. The coincidence ends there because you have good news and Carly has... news.

"She's in Seattle," are the first words out of her mouth.

You don't have to ask who _she_ is. "You sure?" you ask instead.

"Yeah, Spencer told me that he saw her leaving Groovy Smoothie. I called Melanie and she confirmed." You hear a sigh. "Apparently, she's been back for a couple of weeks. They don't know where she's been all this time and they don't know if she's sticking around."

Only after you end the call do you realize that you didn't tell Carly your good news.

.

You didn't even have to think about it. You have a week and a half to get to California. Ten days. That should be enough, you hope, when you book your ticket to Seattle. You don't really tell anyone and you want to keep it that way. For a while, at least.

When you arrive in Seattle, you're still not thinking. It's automatic how you jump into the nearest available cab and mutter the all-too-familiar address. Then you're walking up the path to her front door, hoping (hoping _hoping_) that when the door opens, it's her face.

It is her face. But it's not _her_.

"Wow, Freddie..." There's a sadness in Melanie's smile and then you know.

(You _know_ and it's more painful than anything that you've ever experienced.)

You never make it home. Instead you jump on a train to California. You leave your mother a voicemail explaining that you need the extra couple of days and that she should visit you over the summer.

.

You pour every ounce of yourself into your internship. Some of the other interns don't appreciate it but your supervisor does and he hints that there might be a future there for you. A future.

_What's the point of having a future when the world is ending soon?_ you catch yourself thinking one day, in the middle of coding.

That night you end up sleeping with one of the other interns. Her name is Sally. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

You throw up immediately after.

.

You take a bus up to San Francisco to visit Carly in the fourth week of your internship. It feels like nothing has changed, like your friendship was never at the brink of ending.

She shows you around town and introduces you to her new boyfriend, Taylor, who's an all right kind of guy. You have nothing in common, of course. He talks to you about his indie band and his political views and you pretend to appear interested.

Carly can tell like always, and before you leave, she gives you a big hug and a deliberately sloppy kiss on your cheek.

"You don't have to try so hard all the time," she tells him as they stand in the bus station, "but I've always appreciated the effort Freddie. Always."

.

The internship ends and you're pretty confident that by the this time next year, you'll be working for the company full-time. The second your final of college starts, you put everything you have into making sure that it really will be your final year. Delays are unacceptable.

Your mother begs you to come home for Christmas, though, and while you would rather stay behind and work on your thesis, you feel guilty for not having seen her in almost a year. You give in eventually, but only after you get a phone call from Carly demanding that you be home for the holidays.

"I need someone to act as a buffer between me and Spencer! He says he's going to make 'Carly-themed sculptures' for his next art show," she says through what you assume are gritted teeth. "I just might kill him, Freddie."

.

Christmas is a happy affair. Spencer decides to forgo his idea of "Carly in Wonderland" after Carly informs him that she'll be moving back to Seattle after graduation. You try not to laugh when Spencer accidentally sets the table cloth on fire after leaning over the table for a hug from Carly.

"I'm just higly combustible, okay?" he cries defensively, after you've poured your glass of water on the thankfully smallish flames.

Your mother is surprisingly mellow. Being away for so long has afforded her the time to focus on other pursuits. As evidenced by all the needlepoint gracing your apartment. Her Christmas present to you is literally a small fortune.

"Are you sure?" you say, trying not to gape as you look from her to the check in your hand. "I'll get by, mom. I don't need so much."

"And I need even less than you," she points out and suddenly it's the end of that discussion.

The men are assigned the dishes and your special task involves wiping and putting them away. Spencer is quiet for a moment then places a soapy hand on your shoulder.

"For what it's worth," he starts slowly, "she looked okay. I think she knew I saw her and... I don't know. I think that's maybe why she left so soon."

That makes sense to you. It makes some of the most terrible, horrible sense, but sense nonetheless.

You try to shrug your shoulders in a noncommittal way. Christmas shouldn't be sullied by such melancholic thoughts.

.

It's after New Years Eve when you realize something. Even when you haven't seen her in almost four years, she's still the most annoying person in the world to you. She invades your thoughts at the most inopportune moments—in the middle of the night, in the middle of a meeting with your thesis adviser, in the middle of having sex.

You're scared that this will be a forever deal, that this will never end.

But then you remember.

_The world will end soon_.

.

You're walking up the stairs to your apartment on the fourth floor when you run into one of your roommates, Jared. He's obviously in a hurry and looks relieved and flustered at the same time when he realizes that it's you.

"Dude, some chick is waiting for you in your room," he says before taking off down the stairs. "Sally or something or other. She says she hasn't seen you in a while and—I'm late!"

"Sally? Summer internship Sally?" you ask the empty hallway.

You try to figure out what she's doing there but haven't really come up with anything until you've entered the apartment and you're facing the back of a blonde head.

"Sa—"

Your breath gets caught in your throat when she turns her head and your eyes meet blue eyes that are far more familiar than just a summer fling.

"Hey, nub," she says cheerfully, as if she was never gone. As if she never left you.

(As if she never broke your heart.)

You don't know how long you're standing there but then she's walking toward you, holding her hand out. You don't reach out for her, but that's more the immobility than anything else. She seems to understand. Just as she should.

She reaches for your hand and gives you a small smile before leading you to your room. You don't even know how she found out which one is yours.

.

You remember it like flashes of a _really _good dream. Your fingertips recall warm soft flesh. Your cheek, her hot breath and your mouth, her pouty lips.

"Don't leave me," you remember pleading.

There's a flash of white teeth as she smiles down at you, her blonde hair in a mess of waves as the tumble down her back. "I won't leave tomorrow." She presses her body tight against yours and you forget to ask if that means she'll leave the day after.

.

She's there the morning after, wearing an old Galaxy Wars shirt that you normally sleep in and holding a cup coffee.

"Good morning."

You cut to the chase, not bothering to return her greeting. "Don't leave again, Sam."

"I won't leave tomorrow," she amends once again, pressing those lips against yours.

.

It turns into a game. A dangerous game. You've set your phone to remind you to ask her every day, scared that if you miss a day of not asking her to stay, you'll wake up alone.

She thinks that you're being ridiculous but you count all the times she had gotten one over you because of word play. But then she wraps her arms around you and it's enough to shut you up.

You never do find out where she's been all that time. You do ask, more than a couple of times, in fact. But she would always just smile and shrug and tell you that you shouldn't concern yourself with such inconsequential things.

She asks, though, that you not tell anyone. Not Carly. Not Spencer. Not Melanie. Not her mother. Not yours.

"They'll make a big deal and I don't want that," she explains.

But it _is_ a big deal, you want to say.

.

The days string together so seamlessly that the only way you know that they've passed at all is when you wake up with your arms around her. There's always this second when you wake up that your hold on her tightens, as if to reassure yourself that she's still there.

She is. And you've never been happier.

She pulls you away from your work when she feels you've had enough, distracting you with food, movies or lingerie. You catch her mending one of your trousers one day and the sight is just so... _comical_ that you have to pull her into your arms and give her a twirl and a dip making the two of you fall onto the bed.

"Don't leave me," you tell her gruffly, pulling off her shirt and unbuttoning her pants. "Don't leave me _ever_."

.

Your roommates think that she's the best thing since sliced bread.

"No, seriously, dude," Steven tells them as they're all sitting together for dinner one night. It's spaghetti with meatballs a la Sam. "Your girlfriend makes the best meatballs ever."

She laughs as she hands over the last plate and it's so surreal that she's doing this. Serving food, laughing with you and your friends. No cutting words, no evil glares. No stupid nicknames. She still likes to speak with her hands and arms (sharp elbows to the ribs and punches to the arm) but it seems as if she's found some peace of mind somewhere along the way.

"I'm really good with balls," she says with a wink and she slips onto your lap, grabbing your fork, "just ask Freddie here."

You smile up at her quite proudly and wrap your your arm around her slim waist.

Later that night, while you face each other in bed, you return those words of hers that have haunted you since. "The world will end soon and what will we have been?"

She thinks it's ridiculous that you remember something that happened so long ago.

You kiss her then whisper in her ear. "I remember everything."

"That sounds creepy."

.

It's nothing short of amazing, but you make it through the rest of the semester without much distraction aside from Sam herself. And she's more than enough of a distraction than you can handle sometimes.

You breathe a sigh of a relief when the defense for your thesis is finally over. It's been a long two and a half hours. Oh wait, a quick check of your watch tells you that it was, in fact, three hours. But you exit the building feeling more alive, more accomplished than ever.

She's sitting on one of the benches outside. There's a duffel bag beside her. The same duffel bag she had with her when she first showed up.

Then it hits you. Right in the gut. And it _hurts_.

You didn't say the words yesterday.

"Don't leave me," you say rather pathetically. But you know that no matter what you say, you'll never be able to change her mind.

She just smiles that soft smile that's so unfamiliar but familiar at the same time. "I need to go," she explains, her tone begging for you to understand.

"But I need you."

.

College is over. Your mom, Carly and Spencer make the trip out to attend your graduation where you receive Latin honors and a special award for your thesis. It's no small feat. Everyone is congratulating you and the dean has mentioned more than once about being too happy to write him letters of recommendation.

But it feels like an empty victory.

Because Carly is Carly, she pulls you aside and asks you if there's something wrong. You tell her, because you've been wanting to tell someone and because the pain has become to great to not be able to share. She's not mad. She tries to understand but it's evident that she doesn't really get it.

"I love her," you say simply.

And then she finally understands.

.

You've been living in California for a couple of months now, having accepted the job offer from the company you did your summer internship with. They're happy to have you back on board and you're happy to not have to go back to Seattle after graduation.

You can't be back in that city. You can't be there and not have her there with you.

.

Carly calls to ask if you'll be coming home for Thanksgiving. You didn't even realize that the holiday is near and you try to make it sound like you're busy (true) and that you can't not work through the holidays (not true).

"But I want to introduce you to my new boyfriend!" she tells you and you can almost hear her pout as she says this.

"I didn't know you were dating anyone." It's true. You didn't.

"I am! And guess who he is!" It takes about three seconds before she answers herself. "It's Brad! Remember Brad?"

"Wait, high school Brad?"

"No, Brad the dancing tomato," she deadpans. "Yes, of course high school Brad."

You offer her your congratulations because Brad's always been a cool guy and she deserves someone who will be nice to her, someone who will give her what she needs instead of what she thinks she needs.

.

You start dating.

Then you stop dating.

(It'll never work out with anyone else.)

.

You're running late one day and you try to open your front door while slipping on your jacket and pulling on a scarf.

"Running late?"

She's standing on the front step of your home, the duffel bag once again at her feet. It doesn't help that she's wearing your Galaxy Wars shirt, the one you convinced yourself that she took but never really knew for sure.

You don't know what to do with yourself. Half of you wants to pull her to you and chain her to your side. But the other half remembers all too well how painful it is to love her. The latter half wins out and you try to walk past her.

You're succesful. Kinda of. You get a few feet beyond her before she calls out to you.

"I found my dad."

It's pretty much the last thing you expect her to say and it effectively stops you from moving any further. You turn on your heel to face her, waiting for her to explain why that should change anything.

"That's why I left after high school," she explains, sitting down on the step. "I went to see him. He was in a bad way, when I got to him. Cancer. I..." Running her hands through her hair, she tries to continue but it's harder for her to talk and you know that whatever she has to say won't be good news. "I didn't want to tell anyone. I know what you'd say, what Carly and my sister and mother would say: 'He's not worth it.'"

He isn't. But you keep that thought to yourself.

"I took care of him. He didn't really have anyone and I just... I wanted to have my dad back for so long, you know? But he became progressively worse and he didn't have anyone and... He didn't have _anyone. _Just me... I couldn't leave even if I wanted to."

It's a difficult thing to see Sam cry. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing and her eyes are transfixed on the sky to keep the tears at bay. She's beautiful. Breath-taking.

"I thought about you every day," she whispers brokenly. "You and Carly. But mostly you. And every day I thought about just leaving my dad behind but I told myself that I'd never be like him. But it's ironic, isn't it? Because I left you behind... I'm sorry. So sorry..."

This is what you've been waiting for. The apology, the explanation, but it hurts to hear it all and before you know it, you've pulled her to her feet and you're squeezing her tight, hoping to absorb all that pain and hurt.

"I did go back to Seattle once. I wanted Mel to come see him, but she wouldn't have it. I asked her not to tell anyone. Because if someone asked me to stay... I probably would have. Then one day my dad tells me that the doctor told him that he's in remission," she continues despite you telling her to just shut up already. But a part of you understands that she has to let it all out. "I waited a month before I felt it was safe to leave. I got on a bus..."

"And I found you in my living room," you finish for her. Your fingers gently caress her cheek and she looks up into your eyes. "You said that if someone ask you stay—"

"Why didn't I stay when you asked me to?" she fills in the blank. She nuzzles your neck but the hot tears are still there. "I wanted to, god knows I did. But I knew my dad was lying. The day I arrived at your place, I got a call that my dad was back in the hospital. So I counted the days until I had to leave again. I didn't want to." She has your face between her hands and she's such a sight—the bloodshot eyes, runny nose and tear-stained cheeks. "I love you."

For some reason, you laugh. A big one that just erupts from your belly, uncontrollable and freeing. The look on her face is something akin to fear but as you just keep laughing, it slowly melts away from her face and she joins you with her own belly laugh.

.

It's a day when weird things happen. First, you call in sick for work (lying really, but you don't particularly care at this point). Second, you finally have _her_ in your arms.

"For good," she assures you. You raise a suspicious eyebrow and she slaps your shoulder. "You can tell Carly and Spencer. And even your mom," she adds and you know that that's as good as it's gonna get.

"I love you."

A kiss lands on your lips and a happy sigh later, you receive your answer.

"I love you, too."

You're about to pull to her toward the bedroom when she pulls back. "The world will end soon and what will we have been?"

All those years. Never had an answer.

"Who the hell cares?"

She smiles, one that's all teeth and sunshine. "I love you, Fredward Benson."

.

"I'll have to introduce you to my dad."

"Oh, all right. When do we go?"

"Go where?"

"To meet your dad?"

"He's in the bag."

"Uh, what? What did you say? I think I misunderstood. It sounded like you said that your dad's—"

"In my bag. Yeah. Can we put him on the fireplace?"

.

_I feel like I've seen just about a million sunsets_

_She said, "if you're with me I'll never go away"_

_That's when I stopped and I took another look at my baby_

_She said, "if you're with me I'll never go away"_

~"Everybody's Gotta Live" by Love

.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, I know I should be working on the second chapter of Nate and Olivia which I will definitely do after this one.

I confess, the initial draft of this included a hanging ending and no explanation as to Sam's disappearance. I think some people might prefer that rather than everything just kinda exploding in the end but I'm one of those people who enjoy closure and I pester until I get answers. My boifran can vouch for that.

Anyway, this will probably be the last one-shot until I crank out that second chapter. Or not. Depends.


End file.
